Silent Hill: Metamorphosis
by AetheriumDreams
Summary: I am nobody and no one, and I exist in this foggy town of dreams and nightmares for reasons I do not know. Now I must learn what my purpose here is... if there even is one. Am I alive or am I dead? PLEASE REVIEW!


_Please, just leave me alone._

I shudder. The cold isn't just physical here; it permeates my clothing and skin and gnaws at my bones, and causes my lifeblood to freeze.

That noise. The howling and inane moaning of hideous monsters. They roam the streets and cluster in dark places. This entire town could be qualified as one huge dark place; I don't recollect ever seeing the sun here…

Ugh, the noise again. Why do they wail and rage? Who is out there to hear them? Do they serve some sort of purpose? Surely their existence must mean something… surely _mine _must…

My thoughts are scattered and fragile. I don't know how I've stayed sane so far. Then again, I may be out of my mind… I wonder, do insane people actually know they've cracked, or do they think themselves to be perfectly normal? I don't know, I don't know…

I want the wailing to stop. I want to be left alone. _Please, just shut up and go away… all of you…_

I can still recall what it felt like for sunlight to kiss my skin. I remember what a home and a warm bed were, what they felt like. Sometimes I fancy that I smell some food I once ate, but it's just an illusion. Ha… there is no shortage of illusions here in Silent Hill.

_Silent Hill._

If only it actually _were_ silent, then maybe the dead could have some actual rest…

I reach up and cover my ears with my hands. My poor little ears, so cold now, no hat to keep them warm. This will not help block out the noise; it's more of a self-comfort gesture. As if I can somehow wish all of this away. If only…

How long have I been here? I don't know. My memory isn't what it used to be. I get flashes, sequences like clips from some distorted, bizarre movie, but they have no real meaning for me. My name… forgotten. My past… all but gone. I am being emptied by whatever force is keeping me here, as if someone stuck a straw into my soul and is slowly siphoning out what's left of me.

At times I wonder whether it is day or night, but the darkness here does not follow a set pattern. It comes as it pleases, and with it comes a great and unusual change. I have witnessed it firsthand. The walls bleed and the creatures run rampant. I watch from my window, in this decaying hotel… I watch as the monsters scamper about in a frenzy, attacking each other at times and serving no real purpose.

I am not afraid of them. I've lost touch with what it really means to be afraid. Silent Hill has drained me of my awareness as far as terror and uncertainty go. It ceases to be frightening when it's the norm.

I huddle by a moth-eaten old chair, my knees drawn up to my chest, my body quivering slightly as the cold sets in. I glance over at a fragment of shattered glass, just large enough to serve as a mirror of sorts. My plain brown hair is messy; what used to be a "pixie" cut now resembles a scraggly mop at best. My face is pale and discolored, and gaunt from malnutrition… or something (I haven't eaten in days, yet I'm not even hungry in the slightest…). My eyes, once a hazy blue, stare back at me from sunken dark sockets, the irises a sour green-gray hue, like rain-pregnant storm clouds.

I have several abrasions on my cheeks and forehead. There are also marks on my chest, side, arms and legs. I don't know how they got there. To be honest… I don't even know how I got to Silent Hill. It's like I just… appeared… without really knowing I had ever been someplace else. The marks sting, but less than they did five days ago; they haven't bled much since then.

I look down and regard my grimy, dirty sweater. It is starting to fray at the sleeve endings and collar, and has several rips and tears. It used to be a soft purple color, like lilacs, only lighter. There is blood on the sweater as well; spots and streaks. I don't know if it's mine or someone else's, and I honestly don't want to know.

I cringe as yet another ghastly howl rises from somewhere outside. Funny, how I am not affected by hunger or fear, yet the sounds emitted by the creatures is enough to spook me. Perhaps there is some spiritual significance?

After a bout of shrieking from some monstrosity, all seems to go quiet. I listen for a few minutes, surrounded by silence; there are no birds or bees here, no sounds of nature. The silence is thick and oppressive, but it is more bearable than the noise. I rest my head on my folded arms, atop my knees, and close my eyes.

Deep down some part of me knows that something is horribly wrong, that I should be frightened for my life and trying to find an escape route. But that part is all but gone, and frankly, I don't think I have the energy to try.


End file.
